Hiccup's Perspective
The Zippleback twitched its tail once—
CRACK.
Snotlout didn't even have time to react.
He was flung like a sack of spoiled fish into Fishlegs, who let out a high-pitched yelp as both of them tumbled across the arena floor in a graceless heap.
The crowd gasped.
Gobber cursed under his breath.
And from the stands... I heard it.
Not a scream.
Not a cry.
But a laugh.
Low at first.
Almost innocent.
Then it rose.
Sharp. Wild.
Unrepentant.
I turned my head slowly—and there she was.
Freya.
Pressed against the chain dome at the front of the stands, both hands gripping the metal links like she was barely holding herself back.
But her eyes—those bright, burning green eyes—told the truth.
She wasn't holding back.
She was enjoying it.
And not just a little.
Her smile had twisted into something beautifully cruel—something that could've come from Luna's own mouth. Her shoulders trembled with laughter as she watched the teens struggle, wide-eyed and broken in their pride.
She wasn't hiding it anymore.
The mask was gone.
And for the first time... she let it out.
"Look at them..." she whispered through clenched teeth, voice laced with venom and glee. "So weak. So pathetic. Is this really what Berk calls warriors?"
She laughed harder—pure, unchecked sadism pouring from her like fire from a dragon's maw. "This is entertainment! This is what they deserve!"
I didn't hide it.
Not anymore.
I let my pride show.
A slow, knowing grin curled across my lips as I watched my hatchling bask in her truth.
The crowd looked from her to me in confusion—then fear.
But I didn't care.
She wasn't a mistake.
She was a masterpiece.
And she was mine.
But what surprised me most... was Astrid.
Because when I glanced her way, I expected a scowl. A sneer. Judgment.
Instead, I saw her staring at Freya.
Not in horror.
But in confusion.
Something deep was shifting behind her eyes, like a clock wound too tightly finally starting to crack.
I tilted my head.
Interesting...
But I didn't focus on it long.
Because Freya had caught me watching.
Her laughter slowed.
Her expression twitched—just slightly.
Then her cheeks flushed, and she ducked her head, suddenly flustered by the attention.
Still gripping the chains, she hesitated—then did the most Freya thing possible.
She jumped.
Straight off the edge of the stands.
Right toward me.
I sighed before she even landed. "Of course."
I caught her with ease, spinning once to balance the momentum.
"You really have a flair for the dramatic," I murmured, amused. "Just like me."
The crowd stared.
Mouths open.
Whispers spreading like wildfire.
But none of that mattered.
Because the next moment shattered whatever illusion the village still clung to.
Freya clung to my chest, eyes sparkling, laughter still bubbling in her throat as she said without hesitation—without shame—
"Papa!"
Silence.
Heavy. Cold. Absolute.
Not even the dragons moved.
I could feel the stares piercing into me.
But I just smiled down at her and whispered, "That's my girl."
Then I looked up—right at the crowd—and met their horror with calm, unshakable truth.
"Get used to it," I said softly.
"She's mine."
Elders' & Gobber's Perspective
The crowd had begun to buzz again, nervous murmurs rippling through the stands like cold wind.
But inside the arena's upper stone gallery, where the village council watched beneath their ceremonial hoods, there was no noise.
Only stunned silence.
Elder Yrsa sat stiffly, her pale hands gripping the armrests of her seat as she stared at the sight below—Hiccup, cradling that girl. Freya.
Not a cousin. Not a friend. Not a mission.
A daughter.
"Did he just say... papa?" asked Halvar, the oldest of them all, his voice barely above a whisper.
Gobber didn't answer immediately. His expression was grim, furrowed, uncertain. He stared down at Hiccup with eyes that had once seen the boy's birth, his pain, his exile... and now this.
"That's what she said," Gobber muttered. "Clear as day."
"She's the orphan girl," Yrsa added slowly. "Freya. From the edge of the lower quarter. Parents lost to a fire two winters ago."
"She's too young to be involved in whatever he's doing," Halvar snapped, though there was no true anger in his tone—just disbelief.
"No," Gobber said, his voice distant now. "She's not involved. He's protecting her."
The council turned toward him.
Gobber wasn't the boy's kin, but he'd raised him in all but name. Taught him to swing a hammer. Tried to speak for him when Stoick didn't know how.
And now...
"He's claimed her," Gobber said with certainty. "Not in speech. Not in formality. In action."
Halvar narrowed his eyes. "You mean adoption?"
Gobber shook his head. "I mean something deeper. That's no ward. No apprentice. That's his daughter. His choice."
Yrsa's lips pressed into a thin line.
"He's always wanted a family," she murmured. "He had one... once. But they never saw him."
"They threw him away," Halvar added, voice bitter. "And now he's taken what was denied him."
There was a long pause.
Then Gothi moved.
She had been silent through the morning, as always. Scribbling. Watching. Feeling more than speaking.
But now she stood.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
And when she spoke, her voice was quiet, dry like crumbling stone—but clear.
"He has taken in a child," Gothi said.
The entire gallery turned toward her, breath held.
She never spoke unless it mattered.
"She is not of his blood," she continued. "But she is of his heart. He has given her a place where no one gave him one."
The words rang through the stone chamber like an echo off a mountain.
Yrsa blinked. "You approve?"
Gothi's eyes glimmered—sharp and ancient.
"I do."
Halvar frowned. "But he is... he is still dangerous."
"He is," Gothi agreed.
Gobber folded his arms. "He could've hidden her. Kept her in the shadows. But he didn't. He stood in front of all of Berk and claimed her as his own. That boy we knew—he wouldn't have done that unless it meant something."
"It means everything," Gothi whispered. "This is not a weapon he holds. It is a bond."
Yrsa stared back down into the arena. Hiccup was speaking softly to Freya now, brushing dirt from her shoulder. She laughed, her claws flicking slightly as she nuzzled into him.
Something deep inside her twisted.
He was still terrifying. Still unpredictable.
But in this moment?
He looked more human than any man in the village.
"This could be good," Yrsa said at last. "For him. For her."
Halvar scoffed lightly. "Or it could be another piece of a long, dangerous game."
Gobber didn't answer.
Gothi did.
"The shadow in his heart is still there," she said. "But it moves slower now. The girl is not its undoing..."
Her eyes narrowed.
"...but she may be its anchor."
No one said anything after that.
They didn't need to.
Because something had changed that day—and they all knew it.